


A Reward Well-Earned

by misha_anon



Series: As Good As It Gets [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Mad Men AU, PWP, Panties, Power Exchange, Power Imbalance, Rutting, Sub Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 03:25:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1251001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Dean's request, Castiel Novak wears panties to work.  It's too bad his boss didn't warn him he'd be stewing in his own juices all morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Reward Well-Earned

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if I've explained this before, but it seems pertinent. I use the term "girl's underwear" because in this universe, that's how they would be viewed.

Castiel Novak sits at his desk, trying desperately to focus on the pile of retyping he has left to do before the end of the day.  It's a nearly impossible task, what with the aching hardness of his cock beneath his usual woolen slacks and the satiny girl's underwear Mr. Winchester requested he wear today; a dire situation made worse by the fact that his boss hadn't seen fit to add that he wouldn't be in until after lunch.  Castiel closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing his body to cooperate as he considers sneaking away to the bathroom to find some relief.

He's on the verge of doing precisely that when a firm hand on his shoulder stops him in his tracks, eliciting a surprised gasp.  Castiel jerks his head up and opens his eyes to see Dean Winchester looking down, an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips as Castiel feels his cheeks begin to burn with embarrassment.

"My apologies for my tardiness, Mr. Novak," he says, smile growing, "something came up."  Castiel bites back a whimper and nods.  He doesn't have a chance to say anything before Dean squeezes his shoulder and leans the tiniest bit closer to say, "I'll be with you in five minutes. I hope you've done what I asked you to."

After Dean has released his hold and disappeared through his office door, Castiel draws a huge gulp of a breath and looks at his typewriter, feigning studious interest in the words visible on the sheet he was most recently typing.  He presses the heel of his hand to his cock and swallows hard, trying to get comfortable as he sneaks looks around the open office to see whether anyone has noticed anything.  The office hums steadily as always, every other secretary bent to the task at hand.  It's a relief to find no one staring.  The relief lasts until his phone buzzes to let him know Mr. Winchester is ready for him.

Castiel's legs feel like noodles when he pushes up from his desk, his heart pounding with excitement.  Though he and Dean keep most of their extracurricular activities off-premises, it's much more fun when they  _don't_.  As he carefully turns to walk the three steps to his boss's, sweat runs down the valley of Castiel's spine and his breathing goes shallow.  He peers back over his shoulder just before he opens the door, noting that Joan in the far corner is wearing an awfully big smile for someone who's studying her nails; but it doesn't stop him from turning the handle and walking through the door, shoulders squared and eyes to the floor.

Without being told, Castiel locks the office door behind him, double checking it before he turns to the desk and raises his gaze.  Much to his surprise, Dean isn't at his desk, leaving Cas to turn quickly toward the couch on the opposite wall, his cheeks achieving previously undiscovered levels of heat.  Dean is sprawled in the middle of the couch with his jacket and shoes off, his tie undone and his slacks open.  Castiel forgets to breathe at all when Dean's head drops against the back of the couch and he licks his lips slowly.

"Let me see them," Mr. Winchester says huskily, his fingers splayed across the obvious bulge in his boxers.  Castiel's stomach flutters with anticipation of the debauchery to come as his he reaches quickly with trembling fingers for his belt.  He obeys instantly when Dean growls, " _Properly_ , Mr. Novak."

The time it takes to get out of his heavy jacket and shoes is excruciating, but he does so as quickly as possible.  Before reaching for his belt again, he looks at Dean, whose palm is grinding against his own cock as he shakes his head no.  A frustrated growl dies in Castiel's throat as he unties his tie and unbuttons his starched white shirt, shucking out of them and laying them carefully over the nearby chair.  When he looks to Dean for approval again, he gets a nod.

A long morning of intermittent erections with no relief has left his nerves frayed and his patience at a premium. Castiel's cock twitches  in his underwear, leaking against already slippery satin and his hands are shaking so hard it takes three tries to unbutton his slacks. He gives a satisfied grunt when he finally manages, pushing the loose slacks off his hips and letting them fall to the floor.  The heat in his cheeks creeps down his neck and prickles across his chest as he stands before his sprawled lover in only red satin panties and a sweat-soaked white undershirt.

"My God, you're gorgeous," Dean whispers, his adam's apple bobbing noticeably when he swallows.  He beckons Castiel, who nearly trips over the slacks still pooled around his ankles in his hurry to close the three yards between them.  Somehow, by the time he's made it across the room, Dean's slacks and boxers are on the floor, leaving him naked from the waist down.  His hand is rough when he grabs Castiel's cock and squeezes.

The first touch - the first real friction after six hours alone at his desk - is like a reprieve sent by God himself; Castiel's knees threaten to buckle as he grabs for Dean's shoulder to steady himself, unable to stop the roll of his hip forward into the touch.  The reprieve is short-lived; however, when Dean withdraws his touch almost immediately and Cas doesn't even  _try_  to hide his soft sound of disappointment.

"You really like your girl's underwear, don't you?" Dean asks as he runs his fingertip along the waistband before dipping it under the elastic and tugging down so that the band is seated just beneath the head of Castiel's cock.  Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but the words are lost when Dean's fingertip rubs circles around his slit, smearing through the slippery precome.

"I.." he says, then closes his mouth.  The uncomfortable prickle of sweat makes him shiver and he opens his mouth only to close it again when Dean's thumbnail flicks lightly against the underside of his glans.

"Well?" Dean says, his voice full of mirth on the drawn out syllable.  

He lets his fingertips trail down Castiel's bare thigh as he leans back on the couch again and finally, Castiel is able to form a coherent, if shaky, "Yes, sir.  They feel..  pleasant."

Dean reaches out and hooks fingers under the waistband of Castiel's underwear, pulling him forward until he lands ungracefully with a knee on either side of Dean's hips; the hardness of Dean's cock rivaling his own as they slide together with only the precome soaked satin once more between.  The breath is ripped from Castiel's lungs leaving him dazed and light-headed as Dean's hands find his hips and guide a slow rolling movement even as Castiel's fingers dig into the soft back of the couch for support.  He squeezes his eyes closed tightly, struggling against the tide of orgasm already twisting in the pit of his stomach.

"Look at me, Castiel," comes a whisky dark murmur as Dean's palms slide up over the back of Cas' shirt.  He scratches at Castiel's shoulder blades, blunt nails dragging against scratchy cotton as their cocks grind together in the rough press of hips.  

Castiel opens his eyes slowly, not daring to disobey the order.  He finds Dean watching through unfocused eyes, his breath coming in erratic, ragged little gasps as he claws harder at Castiel's shoulders.  When Dean's eyelashes flutter over pupil-blown green and he begins to thrust roughly up, Castiel is emboldened by the wanton way his mouth falls open.  His hands slip from the back of the couch, taking his boss's face between sweaty palms and leaning down to kiss him.

The unspoken agreement that initiating kisses is Dean's domain falls by the wayside in the heat of the moment, his lips pliant under Castiel's breathless kiss.  Dean's fingers curl over the top of Castiel's shoulders, pulling him roughly down as their lips slide together inelegantly, desperate, wet kisses and nips exchanged in an effort to silence moans and wring every bit of pleasure from one another's bodies.

In the close, heated space between them, cock dragging against the inside of slick girl's underwear, Castiel forgets himself, a choked off cry slipping past his defenses.  Dean moves quickly, fingers tangling in Castiel's hair as he pulls his secretary's mouth to his shoulder to muffle any further sounds.

"Come on," Dean breathes softly against the curve of Castiel's ear, " _show_  me how much you like your girl's underwear."

Castiel's body spasms as Dean thrusts up harder, his panting breaths trailing into half-voiced groans of pleasure that are lost in Castiel's sweaty hair.  Fingers curling into the starched fabric of Dean's shirt, Castiel gives up the losing battle, orgasm ripping through him like wildfire as pulse after thick pulse of come spills from his slit into his red satin panties.  He gasps for air; lips held tightly against Dean's shoulder as tears of relief sting his eyes.  

Even after he's come, cock already beginning to soften in the warm mess in his underwear, Castiel ruts against Dean with every last bit of energy he has; his body curled tight and trembling as they find a brutally quick rhythm that will tip Dean over the edge with him.  Dean's free hand slips under Castiel's underwear, squeezing his ass cheek mercilessly as his cock twitches.  He pulls Castiel as easily as a rag doll, a muffled grunt of pleasure kissed into the side of his neck as he feels the spill of hot come against the outside of his underwear.

Dean's hips roll long and slow, smearing come all over Castiel's panties and stomach as his harsh breaths ring in Castiel's ears.  He relaxes slowly, settling back onto the couch, spent and sweaty under his boneless secretary.  After a long moment, apparently convinced there will be no more untoward noise, he releases his grip on Castiel's head and Cas gasps a grateful lungful of air before he rests his forehead against Dean's shoulder.

They sit entwined in silence, hearts pounding the same rhythm against their ribcages and hot breath on one another's skin.  When Castiel's head clears, he sits up straight to look down at his boss, trailing a fingertip across Dean's kiss-plumped lips.  Dean smiles and lets his head drop against the back of the couch again, his stomach soft where it presses against Castiel's.

"You may take as long as you need to pull yourself together, Mr. Novak," he says, his voice carrying the rarely heard accent of his midwestern roots as he runs a fingertip under the waistband of Castiel's underwear again.  He watches Castiel's face through half-lidded eyes as he delivers the rest of his request, "but, leave your underwear when you go."


End file.
